THE VIGILANTES AT THE CAPITOL GROUNDS.
Though our time was considerably taken up with camp duties there was
plenty of time for amusement during the long day. Friday, July 6th, saw
the birth of the Vigilantes. This crowd, made up from the different
companies, created any amount of fun. Any one seen by a Vigilante doing
any thing out of the ordinary (shaving and hair-cutting were capital
offenses) was immediately reported; his person was apprehended, and
brought before the Chief of the Vigilantes, to whom both sides of the
case were presented, he judging whether the defendant was guilty or
not. The scales of justice were badly balanced in this court, for the
unfortunate one was always found guilty. Then the joy began, willing
hands stripped the victim to the waist, he was blacked all over,
balanced on his head and the State hose turned on him. The Yolo Farmer
fell into the clutches of these worthies, but not without a heroic
struggle; pursued by the ruthless mob, he rushed into his tent and,
on emerging, gun in hand and bayonet fixed, presented a formidable
appearance, as, thus armed, he defied his enemies. But their numbers
were too much for him, he was taken from the rear, and borne in triumph
to the place of execution. After a trial of great brevity, he was
stripped to the waist and, while suspended by the ankles, plentifully
watered by the hose. His Keeley brothers, Lang and Hayes, fearing the
same fate, made a hurried departure across the park and enjoyed his
discomfiture at a safe distance.
Van Sieberst was the next unfortunate; poor Van wasn’t doing any thing
either; but that was just the trouble; he had stretched his huge form
upon the earth and was indulging in the creations of fancy, when a
savage tribe of Vigilantes rushed upon him, tore him from out his
ethereal world and bore him to the place of execution. The shriek that
Van gave on being torn from his world of fancy, was heart-rending. He
was arraigned before the all-powerful chief of the Vigilantes, who
inquired, “Why comest this man here? Speak.” Thereupon a great silence
fell upon the assembly and forthwith there leapt from out of the throng
Tooker, the favorite son of the most renowned god of all Work, and
thus he spake: “Most noble Vigilantes, this man doth never work; to
the corporals of the all-powerful ‘City Guard’ he is a constant bane;
he is ever quick, most noble chief, to lie down, but slow to arise; he
was never known to shake the blankets of the tents of his people. Oh,
noble and great-hearted brothers, I bow my head with humiliation; he is
the laziest man in camp.” Thereupon, throughout that great multitude
there arose a loud cry, “Him we honor.” “Him we make our chief.” “Him
we obey.”
There was much rejoicing among the Vigilantes. And, thus it came
to pass, that after passing many days and nights in lowliness, Van
Sieberst, the heaven-descended son of Bacchus, became chief ruler of
the Vigilante Tribe. Verily, I say unto you, that many strange things
have come to pass.
One afternoon, as “Easy” Lundquist was telling an interesting story to
a number of the boys grouped about him and stretched upon the ground in
the shade of the spreading branches of a tree directly facing B street,
Jack Wilson, breaking through the circle and dropping heavily upon
the ground, interrupted him with the startling announcement that the
Vigilantes had just finished with Kelly. A long drawn “What, Sergeant
Kelly?” centered the attention of the crowd upon Herr Frech. “How did
it happen?” he continued, in surprise. “Why, it was only yesterday
that he defied a dozen of the company, who wanted to amuse themselves
at his expense, to touch him. He did not feel just then like fooling,
he said; when he felt that way, why he would tell them so, but until
then they had better leave him alone.” “Did the Vigilantes send a
committee,” further inquired Frech, “to wait upon him and learn his
pleasure as to whether it would be convenient for him to submit himself
to the decrees of the Vigilant court? And did they go down on their
knees and do homage to him as if he were one of the gods? Did they
inquire if his hair was combed or his face washed or his blouse dusted;
or, did they ask him to tell them in case it was not convenient for him
then to submit to the court, when they might come for him and escort
him in royal style to the place of trial? Did they--?” “No,” yelled
Jack, “they did not care for his pleasure, they seized him unawares,
hurried him to the place of execution, sentenced him, and immediately
fulfilled it by giving him, as he stood upon his head, four buckets of
water and a box of blacking.” And so, mighty is the fall of them that
walk on high places.
The question of bathing now became very important. The extreme heat
and the general conditions were such that, for the preservation of
health, some arrangement for bathing was necessary. It was not long,
however, before the brainy young men from Frisco solved the problem.
Wire screens, which had been used to protect shrubbery, were placed
in position and fastened together, so as to form a square apartment.
They were then covered with sheeting to the height of about six feet.
One end of a government hose was attached to the water-pipe; the
other was carried over the top of the enclosure. The green sod was
used for a floor, and the sky for a ceiling. A more enjoyable shower
bath could not be desired. Two strings led from this bath to the pipe
about twenty-five feet away. To turn the water on, you pulled one
string, to turn it off, you pulled the other. This bath was always well
patronized. Necessity is indeed the mother of invention.
The small annoyances of this life are sometimes the most aggravating.
The little whiskers on Dick Radke’s chin had worried us for some time.
On this day we caught him stroking them. There is a limit to all
patience. We rose in our might and removed them, after an ineffectual
struggle on his part. Private Frech’s well-dyed, tiny mustache came
near meeting the same fate, but he would make no resistance and only
begged for the privilege of removing it himself, so we spared the
mustache.
A number of guns were accidentally discharged while we were in camp on
the Capitol grounds. None of the accidents, however, were attended with
such frightful results as that of the Fourth of July, though there were
several narrow escapes. Corporal Burtis gave the order to load while
standing in front of his squad (he should have been in the rear). One
of the pieces accidentally discharged, the ball entering the ground
about twelve inches in front of him. He will never stand in front of
a squad again and give the order to load. Private Hayes, also had a
close “shave” one night when on picket duty, the rifle of the man next
to him being discharged very close to his head. This is one of the
great dangers to be guarded against. A man cannot be too careful when
he has a loaded gun in his hands. The gun should be always carried
with the muzzle up, but, when loading, the muzzle should be pointed to
the ground. Do not stand in front of a man when he is loading his gun;
watch yourself and those around you. Every man should be well grounded
in these principles by his instructor.
About this time the sick and dying telegrams came pouring in from
anxious parents. The mail was too slow for messages like these:
“DEAR CHARLIE:
Mother dying, come home at once.
FATHER.”
or
“DEAR WILLIE:
Father very sick, not expected to live, come home at once.
SISTER.”
“Come home at once” was the largest part of telegrams whose brevity
made the hair curl. The wires were kept hot with these missives. It
looked very much as if there was going to be a boom in the undertaking
business in San Francisco, and that many of the National Guard would
soon be orphans. The letters received by the boys from their mothers
were generally very tearful, each fond mother praying for the speedy
and safe return of her darling boy. There were a few exceptions,
however, one of our boys receiving a letter that was worthy the Spartan
mother. She called upon him to do his duty manfully and courageously;
she hoped that his conduct in time of danger would reflect credit upon
himself and company. We are happy to say of him that he is a worthy son
of such a mother, for he performed his duties, at all times fearlessly
and well.
Clifford, Al Ramm and Jack Wilson were standing in front of No. 1 tent,
having a little argument as to which of the favorite resorts along the
San Francisco route made the best cocktails, when they heard strange
sounds coming as if it were from the ground beneath their feet. They
got down on their hands and knees, and, with ears pressed to the earth,
listened. They had about come to the conclusion that the noise came
from the water-pipe, which ran along the front of the tents about
four inches underground, when Perry, keeper of the key, and Willie
Overstreet, who had been sitting beneath the tree at the head of the
street discussing the dynamite rumors, approached attracted by the
strange actions of their comrades. An idea, Clifford, he has them on
tap. In a stage whisper, of which Henry Irving would be proud, he said,
“keep quiet boys, I hear them talking.” This gave Al and Jack the cue,
and with grave faces they held their ears to the ground. “What’s the
matter”? asked Overstreet, while Perry looked on with staring eyes and
open mouth. “They are undermining the camp,” said Ramm in a sepulchral
tone. “We’ll all be blown up by dynamite,” wailed Jack Wilson. “Hush,”
said Clifford, with upraised hand, “I just heard one of them ask the
other for a match to light his pipe.” In a trice Perry and Overstreet
had their ears glued to the ground. What Perry heard confirmed his
worst fears. He was in the act of dashing off to the General’s tent
to give the alarm, when they caught and held him. They reasoned with
him. “Any premature action,” they said, “might be the death of them
all. They must be very circumspect, as the strikers might be watching
their every movement, and, should their suspicions be aroused, the
earth might open up at any moment and the whole camp be blown skyward.”
It was finally decided that a committee be appointed to wait upon the
General after dark and break the dreadful news to him, as gently as
possible, for he was hardly over the effects of his late illness, poor
man, and nervous prostration might be the result. All that afternoon
the new danger which menaced the camp, was the subject of discussion.
The relative powers of giant powder and dynamite were debated; Clifford
declaring that enough dynamite could be put into the mine to blow the
camp, and even the Capitol itself, off the face of the earth. The
nervous strain Perry and Overstreet were under all the afternoon was
comical to see, particularly Perry, who tugged excitedly at a mustache
that wouldn’t make a decent pair of eyebrows. Night came on. It was
growing late. Quiet had settled o’er the camp. All lights were out,
save the candle that burned dimly in Jack Wilson’s tent. Wilson had
retired to his blankets, but Perry and Overstreet still sat up, talking
over the events of the day. For them there was no sleep. The silence of
the camp was now oppressive and deathlike, when suddenly Billy O’Brien
burst into the tent, breathless and wild eyed, saying, that the Colonel
had ordered him to get twelve men to dig into the mine, and, as they
were awake they should at once report to Lieutenant Lundquist, in the
Captain’s tent, and be supplied with pick and shovel. Counseling them
to make no noise for their lives and to hurry, he dashed off again.
Poor Overstreet, gave a deep groan and nearly fainted, while Jack
Wilson said, he did not like the job a bit, springing dynamite mines
was not in his line; he wished that he was at home, but, as he was
ordered, he supposed he’d have to go. Perry said nothing, but was doing
some powerful thinking. Jack left them and proceeded to the Captain’s
tent, where a crowd of choice spirits were collected, awaiting the
coming of Charley. And he came buttoned and belted, with a bayonet at
his side, ready to do or die. He saluted the Lieutenant, with nervous
rapidity, no less than seventeen times. The Lieutenant, who had his
head hidden behind a newspaper, was doing his best to control his
feelings; but when Charley asked for a shovel he could stand it no
longer, and burst into a roar of hearty laughter, which was joined in
by the rest of the merry crowd. Charley, seeing it was a joke, beat a
hasty retreat to his tent, and was soon locked in the arms of Morpheus.
As, during the campaign, we had to do our own washing we utilized our
buckets at first, but soon found them too small for the ever-increasing
wash. At the suggestion of Jack Gilkyson, a collection was taken up
and a fine washtub and board were soon in operation. The washing,
which was spread upon the tents and hung upon the guy ropes to dry,
gave the street the appearance of a Chinese wash-house in full blast.
On one occasion Sam Wise had just washed his socks; a little to the
rear of his tent where the operation was performed Lang, Hayes, and a
few others were stretched upon the grass. One and all thanked Sam for
what he had done. Lang, to vary the monotony, threw a very soft peach
at Hayes, which struck him in the ear and spread in all directions.
Hayes seized Lang, and, in the struggle which followed, they neared the
bucket which contained the soapy water in which Sam had just washed his
socks. At this opportune moment, Hayes had Lang in a very advantageous
position; reaching out he upset the contents of the bucket over Lang’s
head, and then did some very pretty sprinting, with Lang in hot
pursuit. In their path stood another bucket of water, which Lang picked
up and threw with a wild swish at the fleeing Hayes; but the bucket
turned in his hands and he received the contents in the neck. Dripping
with water he picked up a scantling, the size of himself, and continued
the pursuit; but the fleet Hayes had by this time reached a place of
safety.
Lang, when on sentry duty, was the admiration of all the boys, he
looked so much like a regular, straight and stiff as a pikestaff, and
about as stout. The way be brought people to a halt was enough to bring
on heart trouble. When he saluted an officer he brought his piece to
the carry with a snap that startled the horses in the street. His great
ambition was to become an orderly for General Ruger.
This brings us to the great indignity which was put upon the Keeley
Club, an indignity that will be remembered by its members as long as
the memory of it lasts. Their High Priest Lang and P. J. Kennedy,
another prominent officer in the organization, were summoned to
Quartermaster Cluff’s tent. From this tent all good things flowed,
particularly the beer. Visions of oceans of it, enough to satisfy even
their thirsty souls floated before their sight. With light hearts and
willing steps, they sped towards the tent. Yes, there was the keg,
clothed in a bag of ice, just discernible within its shade. Its bright
brass faucet shining in the distance like a star of hope. See! the
quartermaster is slowly drawing a bowl of the amber fluid; ah! how
refreshing it looks. The feet that would rather run than walk on such
occasions soon brought them to their destination. They saluted in their
best style; the quartermaster saluted. Lang’s face broke into its
most insinuating smile, while the Yolo Farmer mopped the perspiration
from his classic brow with a linen napkin, and remarked that it was
very warm. All this time the quartermaster was sipping his beer with
exasperating leisure; between sips making very commonplace queries.
He remarked that Lang looked very thin, but that Kennedy seems to be
getting stouter if anything. Great God! their tongues were cracking.
Would he never get through, and invite them to slake their burning
thirst? But everything has an end. Finally with a sigh of satisfaction
he put down his glass, and disappeared from before the wondering eyes
of Lang and Kennedy into his tent, from which he soon emerged, pick in
one hand and shovel in the other, and placing them in the passive hands
of our now paralyzed comrades, bade them follow him. Some fifty feet
away he halted, pointed to the ground and commanded, “Dig,” and they
dug. For hours these gentlemen, strangers to hard work, delved into the
earth, under a broiling sun, like common laborers.
[Illustration: THE YOLO FARMER AND HIGH PRIEST AT WORK.]
The boys’ funds were getting low about this time; in fact a great many
left town without any funds, at all. Clifford was known to be in a
chronic state of financial debility. When he marched down the street
jingling in his pocket a bunch of keys which sounded like many silver
dollars crying forth, “spend me”; he was questioned on all sides as to
where he made the raise. “Oh”! said he, “I’ve just been up to Adjutant
Williams’ tent, and got a little advance.” “What”! they exclaimed, and
waiting for no more they immediately made a bee line for the adjutant’s
tent. The adjutant loves a joke as much as any one, and, though puzzled
at first, soon understood and put the boys off with various excuses.
He told Billy O’Brien, who was a most earnest applicant, that the
paymaster had a breakdown on his way to camp, and would not arrive for
some time. Billy went away, and when surrounded by his tent-mates, who
anxiously inquired as to his success, quoted the following lines from
Charles O’Malley, the Irish Dragoon, for their delectation:
“And though up late an’airly
Our pay comes so rarely
That divil a farthing we’ve ever to spare.
They say some disaster
Befell the paymaster
’Pon me conscience I think the money’s not there.”
Very late Saturday night we were joined by the great artist on the tin
whistle, and star Dutch comedian, Doc Sieberst, and private William
O’Malley, attached to the hospital corps. Doc was besieged for news
from all sides. Hayes did his best to lure him into the Keeley tent,
where a small riot was in progress; but the providence that is said to
watch over children and drunken men had the Doc in mind that night.
We saw the famous tin whistle gleaming in the moonlight through the
lacings of his leggings, and ever after our marches, to and from town,
were enlivened by its music. The boys were all delighted next morning
to see the honest, open-work Irish face of O’Malley amongst them. Up
to this time we had no wires attached to the hospital tent. Now things
were different. A lot of us got taken very badly with malaria, and
every morning we went to the hospital tent to get our quinine.
Among the members of the City Guard it is a case of one for all, and
all for one; and Doc O’Malley’s connection with the hospital tent
brought joy to B street in more ways than one. Beer was plentiful
in the hospital tent; the doctors not only drank it themselves, but
required an extra allowance for the patients. Under these conditions,
however, patients increased at such an alarming rate that the Doctors
decreed that beer was bad for the sick, and consequently they had to
drink the extra allowance themselves. Though men of great capacity
they were unable to get away with two barrels daily. This fact was
known to O’Malley, who imparted it to the good-natured and burly Teuton
Rupp. In the dead of night Rupp stole forth, bucket in hand, and,
after a careful reconnoissance, invaded the hospital quarters. He soon
returned to the street with the bucket full of the foaming beverage;
then beneath the folds of the Keeley tent followed a scene of subdued
but exquisite enjoyment. The bucket empty, Rupp and High Priest Lang
sallied forth again, with a parting request from Corporal Burdick to
bring the keg along this time. Lang, with fine sarcasm, asked him if
the contents of the keg wouldn’t do him? This time the keg was emptied,
and the return of Rupp and Lang was the occasion of renewed enjoyment.
Monday, July 8th, we went swimming in a body. Arrangements had been
made with the bath-house keepers the day previous by Lieutenant Filmer,
every thing was lovely. The boys had a great time plunging and diving
in the tank, and playing tricks on one another. It was here discovered
that the brave and fearless Gille was the greatest of cowards in the
water. Antonelli has dallied so long with other liquids that water is
an unknown quantity to him, particularly a tank of it; and any attempt
to duck him completely stampeded him. His frantic efforts to get away
from his pursuers were the cause of much hilarity. This aversion to
water is strictly Democratic in its character.
This night we were reinforced by Tommy McCulloch, another young man
with pill-rolling aspirations. We have taken time by the forelock and
already call him and his side partner, O’Malley, Doc.
Monday morning the following proclamation was issued by President
Cleveland:
WHEREAS, by reason of unlawful obstructions, combinations, and
assemblages of persons it has become impracticable, in the judgment
of the President, to enforce by the ordinary course of judicial
proceedings the laws of the United States within the State of
Illinois, and the city of Chicago, within said State; and
WHEREAS, that for the purpose of enforcing the faithful execution of
the laws of the United States in the State and city aforesaid the
President has employed a part of the military force of the United
States,
Now, therefore, I, Grover Cleveland, President of United States, do
hereby admonish all good citizens and persons who may be or may come
within the city and State aforesaid against aiding, countenancing,
encouraging, or taking part in such unlawful obstructions,
combinations, and assemblages; and I hereby warn all persons
engaged in or in any way connected with such unlawful obstructions,
combinations, and assemblages to disperse and retire peaceably to
their respective abodes, on or before twelve o’clock noon of the ninth
day July, inst.
Those who disregard this warning and persist in taking part with a
riotous mob in forcibly resisting and obstructing the execution of
the laws of the United States, or interfering with the functions of
the Government, or destroying and attempting to destroy the property
belonging to the United States, or under its protection cannot be
regarded otherwise than as public enemies. Troops employed against
such riotous mobs will act with all moderation and forbearance
consistent with the accomplishment of the desired end, but the
necessities that confront them will not with certainty permit
discrimination between guilty participants and those who are mingled
with them from curiosity and without intent. The only safe course,
therefore, for those not actually and lawfully participating is to
abide at their homes or at least not to be found in the neighborhood
of riotous assemblages.
While there will be no hesitation or vacillation in a decisive
treatment of the guilty this warning is especially intended to protect
and save the innocent.
IN TESTIMONY WHEREOF, I hereunto set my hand and cause the seal of the
United States to be hereto affixed. Done at the City of Washington
this eighth day of July, in the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and
ninety-four, and of the Independence of the United States of America
the one-hundred and eighteenth.
By the President, GROVER CLEVELAND.
W. Q. GRESHAM, Secretary.
All day, Monday and Tuesday, the President’s proclamation was the
absorbing topic of conversation. We felt, that it was no more nor less
than a declaration of war against the existing state of lawlessness,
and that the long-threatened storm was soon to break. That we were
to be reinforced by the regulars was now an assured fact, and their
arrival was looked for daily. The flame from the torch of the strikers,
that had laid property, worth millions of dollars, in ashes at Chicago
leaped to the telegraph wires and swept across the country, firing
the Sacramento strikers with a reckless spirit of lawlessness and a
resolution to sustain their position at any cost and by any means. We
felt that our present inaction would soon give way to more stirring
scenes, the serious nature of which would admit of little joking.
During all this excitement the leaders of the Keeley Club were very
busy spreading the principles of their doctrine; and were so successful
that numbers of applications for admission to the charmed circle of
the flowing bowl were daily received. Tuesday morning, after receiving
their usual doses of malaria-killing quinine from the hands of Dr.
O’Malley, High Priest Lang, Drs. Kennedy, Hayes and Burdick had a short
consultation, and decided to take immediate action with reference to
the applications that had been received. Secretary Hayes was instructed
to inform all the applicants that an open meeting of the Keeley Club
would be held that afternoon at two P. M. in the German tent.
The occupants of the German tent at once began to make preparations
for the reception and entertainment of their distinguished guests. A
collection was taken up and William Baumgartner intrusted with the
perilous task of buying a keg of beer, and transporting it to the
tent. This he did with much boldness and address. The meeting of the
Keeley Club was now an assured success. Two o’clock found an overflow
gathering at the German tent. With the diplomatic view of getting
those present in the proper state of mind for what was to follow, to
prepare the soil, as it were, for the seed, Dr. Burdick suggested, that
as the heat was very great, and every one in a chronic state of thirst,
it would be well to serve some liquid refreshments. This suggestion
met with approval from all sides and “Punch” Zimmerman did Trojan work
for the next ten minutes at the tap. With a few well-chosen remarks
Al Heeth presented the Hon. Dr. Lang, High Priest of the Inner Circle
of the Flowing Bowl, whose appearance was greeted with a hearty round
of applause. The learned doctor, in an eloquent address, punctured by
applause, and numerous invitations to imbibe, which he did not let the
dignity of his office prevent him from accepting, dwelt on the history
of the Keeley Club, past and present, comparing the present gathering
to the Bacchic meetings and revels of the dim and classic past, and
growing poetic quoted from “Alexander’s Feast,” by Dryden:
“The praise of Bacchus, then the sweet musician sung,
Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young.
The jolly god in triumph comes,
Sound the trumpets, beat the drums;
Flushed with a purple grace
He shows his honest face;
Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes,
Bacchus, ever fair and young,
Drinking joys did first ordain;
Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure,
Drinking is the soldiers’ pleasure;
Rich the treasure
Sweet the pleasure
Sweet is pleasure after pain.”
Returning to the living present he spoke of the many enduring benefits
derived from being a member of the Keeley Club. He said that it
filled him with great pleasure to see that the efforts of himself and
associates were not in vain, the attendance showed the sympathy and
interest that was taken in the movement by the applicants. Furthermore,
he thought it would be well, on account of the number of applications,
to form the club into branches, and that the first branch be called
the German branch in honor of the tent in which it was formed. This
suggestion met with hearty approval, and the work of organization was
immediately begun. At the expiration of the solemn ceremonies connected
therewith Private Flanagan of the Irish tent arose, and, after
congratulating the learned doctors of the Keeley Club on the success of
the meeting, invited all present to attend a pink tea that would be
held in his tent that evening at eight P. M. Dr. Lang arose, and, with
a breast heaving with suppressed emotion, said that he felt gratified
and honored that his efforts and the efforts of his comrades had met
with the distinguished approval of a gentleman who could boast of such
royal lineage as Mr. Flanagan. The liberal invitation extended to all
betrayed the true prince’s heart, and, on behalf of the members of the
Keeley Club, he accepted the invitation with great pleasure.
The members of the Irish tent for the rest of the day were actively
engaged making preparations for the evening’s entertainment, and not
until a certain dark object was rolled beneath the flap of their tent
did they cease their labors. Soon after supper those desirous of
getting front seats began to arrive, among them being Van Sieberst,
Gillie, Dick Radke, Sam Wise, and Jimmy Wear. By eight o’clock the tent
was crowded to suffocation; the flaps were then raised, so that those
who could not get in could hear and see. In the middle of the tent,
resting on a cracker-box, was a mysterious object, draped in a flaming
red comforter, a color dear to the heart of every true Keeley. Upon
this object the eyes of all were centered, and many and varied were
the comments concerning it. Henry Adams said that it was so short and
broad it might be a statue of Grover Cleveland. “That’s about the size
of him,” said Doc O’Malley, who had seen Grover from a distance during
his short stay in Washington a year previous. “Mentally or physically”?
inquired Max Claussenius, who likes to delve in the abstract. But the
way some of the boys cuddled up to it was sufficient proof that it was
not a cold and lifeless statue, and the general conclusion was that
it must be the pink tea. Mr. Bannon made the address of welcome, and,
amid wild applause, unveiled that which had been the object of so much
curiosity, revealing a nice, plump keg of hop juice. Jimmy Wear, by
acclamation, was placed in charge of the liquid refreshments, and spent
a very busy fifteen minutes. After a few variations on the whistle
by Doc Sieberst, Dr. Kennedy arose and stated that on account of the
extreme hoarseness of Dr. Lang, occasioned by his oratorical efforts
during the day, he had been requested to say something in reply to the
graceful remarks of Mr. Bannon. After speaking in complimentary terms
of the nature of the entertainment, and the large audience present,
he referred to the absence of Sergeant Kelley, Privates Crowley and
Hayes, who were called away to do extra picket duty, and who were at
that moment, with sleepless and vigilant eye, guarding the camp. He
said, that greatly pleased as he was with the result of the afternoon’s
work, it would be a crowning joy could he this evening create the
nucleus of another branch of the beloved order, and advanced the idea
that had been put into effect with so much enthusiasm in the afternoon
by the members of the German tent, and call the new branch, the Irish
branch. (Prolonged applause.) Continuing, he dwelt upon the happy
results obtained by belonging to the organization, and the great
benefits from an intellectual point of view; to breathe the same air,
imbibe the same liquids with such intellectual giants as Dr. Burdick,
Antonelli Gille, Sam Wise, and Joe Keene would result in permeating
them with all the knowledge of the ancients and moderns, books could
be thrown to the wind while sitting at the base of such monuments
of learning. Amid the wildest applause Mr. Flanagan gravely arose,
like a knight of old, and thus addressed the assembly. He said he was
satisfied that the forming of the branch suggested by Mr. Kennedy,
would meet with the hearty approval of every man in the Irish tent.
As for himself he had been always a Keeley at heart, their principles
had at all times filled him with admiration. The organization that
contained in its by-laws that shining legend, “An invitation to imbibe
is always in order,” deserved the commendation of every thinking
man. He had only one request to make, and that was, that the circle
composed by the members of his tent be called after his great ancestor,
Ireland’s greatest king, Brian Boru. The enthusiasm at this point
beggars description; the stirring words of Mr. Flanagan brought every
man to his feet, and, amid great cheering, a bumper was drank to the
welfare of the Brian Boru Lodge, of the Irish Branch of the Keeley
Club. Through the storm of cheering the inspiring air, of “The Harp
that Once Through Tara’s Halls,” burst upon the gathering rendered
by Doc Sieberst on the tin whistle. After order was restored the
initiating ceremonies were gone through, and the rest of the evening
given up to song and recitation.
Taps put an end to their revelries, and, after many congratulations
on all sides, each man went to his tent and soon the stillness of the
night settled o’er the camp.
This silence was suddenly broken in upon by an uproar created by Sam
Wise. Sam had gotten a little mixed when he retired, and, instead of
disposing his body inside the tent, had become turned about and the
most part of him was sticking out through the rear of the tent into G’s
street. A guard passing down the street stumbled and fell on him. Sam,
thinking he was being assaulted by the enemy made such a violent effort
to beat off the imaginary foe, that he nearly dragged the tent down
upon his comrades, at the same time yelling lustily for help. It was
some time before he was quieted, and finally fell asleep.
Thus did this day come to a close, a day that will shine forever in the
annals of the Keeley Club, a day crowded with pleasant memories, a day
on which two lusty branches had put forth from the parent trunk, to
grow, to blossom, and to bear fruit.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]